


Catch a Bullet

by catastrophage



Category: Fear the Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Character Death Fix, Fix-It, Language, M/M, POV First Person, Troy's POV, Violence, s04ep03
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-02
Updated: 2018-05-02
Packaged: 2019-05-01 05:12:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14513292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/catastrophage/pseuds/catastrophage
Summary: Yeah I can't help it. See tags.





	Catch a Bullet

**Catch a Bullet**

She is holding a gun.

_You know... when adrenaline rushes through your body, your perception of time changes, and you experience everything in slow motion. You stumble and fall, and although it happens within just part of a second, you have all the time in the world to think about it. Oh shit I'm falling. You see the floor come closer, and you notice the details of its structure you would have never noticed before. And only then, when you stare at the sparkling grains of sand, or an ant climbing a grass stalk, everyone around you starts to react, and you can feel the pain hit you._

I'm shouting. Probably no words, nothing coherent, just distress. I lunge at her, out of my mind. A shot is fired and I want to look if she hit you, but I know I have to disarm her first. Bloody hell I've wanted to get rid of her, you know I did. _Kids kill the same as everyone._ A second shot, and I know I am hit, but I don't care. I know I have a second to react before it will hurt, and I use it, punch her face, break her nose, and then I can feel it all over, my shoulder, my arm, my fist - as if I was on fire. I cry out, sitting on her unconscious body. With my good hand I grab her gun and secure it.

 _Adrenaline causes dilated pupils. Without even noticing, you take in as much information as you can. The spot you're standing, the source of light, texture of the ground. Every small movement, even if you don't process it, you do notice it._ And as you stare at me with those big brown eyes, I know you look at me, you see me but you don't really _see_ me, you just see the blood running down my arm, the bullet hole, the tremble of my hand, not able to form a fist for any longer - _details._

I want to ask you if you're all right, but I can't, my throat is clenched from pain and panic. And I notice that you, too, are in pain. You stagger, you fall on your knees, can't reach me. You try to speak, and just a whimper comes out, and I force myself to look up at you, to find your eyes with mine. And as I find them, I feel guilt.

Two years ago, at the dam, you saved me. You disarmed her, the woman who attacked me, whom I trusted, whom I wanted to protect with my life, not realizing that she would be my demise. Or maybe I did realize it and didn't care, and you just played your role in our game, as a keeper of balance - you threw yourself between us, took her hammer, before she could hit me a second time and smash my goddamn skull in.

And now it's my turn. All of a sudden I realize that I've come here, I've come this far just to save you in this very moment and I failed it. "I'm sorry Nick..."  
You manage to get four words out, and I can't help it, I start crying like a child over this whole situation. "Did you kill her?"  
No I didn't, but why do you stupid fuck of a friend even care. You're hit. Your shirt is soaking with your own blood and I couldn't save you. My heart is racing, makes me want to scream, to run away. I ignore the pain in my arm and crawl up to you, cross the few meters that still separate us. "Is she dead," you ask again, and your voice turns furious, desperate. "No!" I shout. "But she very much deserves it!"  
I reach you and I don't bother trying to hold or to comfort you. We're right here, two years into the apocalypse, friends since the very beginning. Lovers on and off, because really, the end of the world is a mess. And once again we're fighting.  
With shaky hands I grab your shirt and just tear it open. The wound looks nasty, but she's missed your vital organs, by mere inches it seems. Getting the bullet out will hurt, I'd rather not do it, we will ask Victor. But it will heal. It most definitely will heal. "Thanks God you're alive," I whisper.

Somehow I didn't expect it. It's like in another reality this would have been your end. But I'm here for you, I'm here to catch a bullet, or a knife, and I'll gladly do it. Add another tally to the count of the times I've saved your life... just like you have saved mine.


End file.
